Bran Lockwood Faline Lust
by somedayisours
Summary: The children prayed, the preacher preached Time and mercy is out of your reach. I'll fix your feet 'til you can't walk. I'll lock your jaw 'til you can't talk. I'll close your eyes so you can't see This very hour come and go with me. I'm death I come, to take the soul Leave the body and leave it cold. To draw the flesh off of the frame, Dirt and worm both have a claim.
1. Prologue: Oh Death

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?

Well, what is this that I can't see  
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me.  
Well I am death, none can excel  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.  
'O, death, someone would pray  
'Could you wait to call me another day?'  
The children prayed, the preacher preached  
Time and mercy is out of your reach.  
I'll fix your feet 'til you can't walk.  
I'll lock your jaw 'til you can't talk.  
I'll close your eyes so you can't see  
This very hour come and go with me.  
I'm death I come, to take the soul  
Leave the body and leave it cold.  
To draw the flesh off of the frame,  
Dirt and worm both have a claim.

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over til another year?

My mother came to my bed  
Placed a cold towel upon my head.  
My head is warm, my feet are cold  
Death is a-movin' upon my soul.  
Oh death how you're treatin' me  
You've close my eyes so I can't see.  
Well you're hurtin' my body  
You make me cold  
You run my life right outta my soul.  
Oh death please consider my age,  
Please don't take me at this stage.  
My wealth is all at your command  
If you will move your icy hand.  
Oh the old, the young, the rich or poor  
All alike to me, you know.  
No wealth, no land, no silver no gold  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul.

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?


	2. Chapter One: Bran Lockwood

**Bran Lockwood**

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?

Well, what is this that I can't see  
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me.  
Well I am death, none can excel  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.  
'O, death, someone would pray  
'Could you wait to call me another day?'  
The children prayed, the preacher preached  
Time and mercy is out of your reach.  
I'll fix your feet 'til you can't walk.  
I'll lock your jaw 'til you can't talk.  
I'll close your eyes so you can't see  
This very hour come and go with me.  
I'm death I come, to take the soul  
Leave the body and leave it cold.  
To draw the flesh off of the frame,  
Dirt and worm both have a claim.

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over til another year?

My mother came to my bed  
Placed a cold towel upon my head.  
My head is warm, my feet are cold  
Death is a-movin' upon my soul.  
Oh death how you're treatin' me  
You've close my eyes so I can't see.  
Well you're hurtin' my body  
You make me cold  
You run my life right outta my soul.  
Oh death please consider my age,  
Please don't take me at this stage.  
My wealth is all at your command  
If you will move your icy hand.  
Oh the old, the young, the rich or poor  
All alike to me, you know.  
No wealth, no land, no silver no gold  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul.

O, Death. O, Death.  
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?

* * *

"Mother."

I waited as she stirred, her eyes fluttering open and closed before she focused on me. "Bran, go to bed its much to early for you to be up." She said closing her eyes and breathing thought her nose.

Swallowing my pride, along with the lump in my thought I spoke. "Can I lay with you, I had a nightmare."

Sighing through her nose my mom patted the spot next to her on the bed where my dad would sleep. When he was home. Laying down next to her I waited, listening to her calm rhythmic breaths. The my senses expanded, the sound of the Lumber jacks heading to work, axes in hand. It wasn't uncommon that one would have their own axe in district 7, most were taught starting at the near age of two how to hold one properly, and by seven how to use it as a deadly weapon. Ment only for the cutting of trees, of course.

Hours pasted like minutes, the sun poking through the blinds. My mother sat up rubbing her eyes, and looked over at me. "Go get ready, I expect we don't have much time before…" Shaking her head my mother gave me an encouraging smile, "You still want your apple don't you?" A teasing smile spread across her face, "you better hurry I might decide to eat your apple." I was out of the room before she could blink.

It was a family tradition, each year my mother would save up for out favorite fruit from the market, mine was a green apple, Oz's had been an orange. But the year before last he had been Reaped, the orange had sat in the middle of the kitchen table untill his body was brought back home, nightmares haunted me almost every night from then on. Mom would still bring an orange to Oz's grave, dad was never home leaving my mother and me to fend for ourselves.

Lifting the wooden bucket I placed it in the sink, filling it with warm water before dumping it in the wooden bathtub siting in the middle of my room. I bathed quickly before dressing, in a white shirt and grey dress pants. I ran a quick comb through my amber coloured hair and paused, my hand hovering over the locket. It was uncommon to have pictures of yourself, or you love ones but Oz had begged and pleaded for pictures, small ones with all of us together. Ones that he placed in the locket he found, pure gold and shaped as a heart, I suspected he stole it but now it didn't matter.

Now.

clipping it around my neck I quickly tucked it under my shirt, the gold hauntingly cold on my skin. It was my most vivid memory of the happenings in the arena, Oz had fought, bit scratched, punched, held on by tooth and nail to keep it. He had killed and died for the locket, for us.

Exiting my room I quickly made my way to the kitchen, in hope of getting something in my stomach before Reaping.

Leaving early was something out of habit. Griping my moms hand, almost in fear. The lump in my throat was back, like it was after the nightmares.

"Honey," she whispered pulling her hand out of my grasp, almost roughly. "I have to go." I knew that, but she was to sacred herself, she had lost Oz and my father she was afraid I would be next. Like I was.

I nodded, pulling away from her after giving her a final goodbye hug and headed toward the line of kids. The line was relatively fast, a simple prick of blood from our finger then pressing it down on the paper, bringing our fingerprint to life, then scanning it for conformation that we had indeed come to Reaping.

I followed the Peacekeepers instruction to the roped off thirteen year olds.

I tried to ignore the uncomfortableness as I was squwished from both sides, on one side was Sara and the other side her brother Yew, both a head taller than me. Almost every one standing in the thirteen year old section was taller than me. Unlike me Oz had been tall, I had only come up to his shoulder.

"What do you think this years competitors will be like?" Sara whispered, her voice shrill and hard on my ears causing me to wince.

"District 1, and 2 will be the same as last year, 12 will have a pair of grey-eyed misfits again I suspect." Yews voice was low and gruff, deeper than and thirteen year old should have, a voice ment for some one older.

I could see the mayor through the crowd stand and approuch the microphone, our district escort a woman with deep green hair and dark brown, almost black skin stood next to the microphone a blinding white smile plastered on her face. "Greetings, District 7." Mr. Whitewood said it a detached way, as if he were trying to convince himself that he felt nothing for the children and teens standing infront of the Justice Building. In away it made sence, he was my mothers brother, my uncle.

"The Hunger-"

The Mayors speech was never something most played attention to, Sara and Yew didn't stop chattering only pausing to not get caught interrupting. It was strange, I could guess why they didn't care, how they didn't feel the cold fear in their gut. They were from the merchant class, their family was never selected to complete, they never lerned to weild a axe, they only had their name in there twice. Mine was in there thirty times, all from the past two-year alone.

"Now," it obviously our district escort this time her voice high-pitched, but still lower than Sara. With quick strides she was over to the bowl on her left, reaching her hand in among the white papers. Plucking one up her way back to the microphone was much longer, than her walk there. "Faline Lust?"

She peered out into the crowd almost eager, the look caused the hair on the back of my neck to raise and my throat close.

Faline was thin, her long brown hair fell to her waist, she looked to be eighteen maybe seventeen. Her face was grim, but her eyes were alight with what appeared to be anger, as if she was blaming the crowd for her name being called. Her chin was tilted slightly upwards, glaring at the crowd.

The squeak of joy from our escort was disturbing, and caused Faline to look at her with the cold glare. "Now shall we do the boys?" She almost drawled and strutted over to the boys bowl on her left.

I couldn't hear anything it was if I was numb, our escort had opened the paper and everything screamed at me to run, but I was frozen in shock at what I had just heard. A wail erupted from the back where the parents were waiting. A yell, maybe it was my father right had been nearly two years since I had seen or heard him.

It didn't matter, I was walking doing my best to keep my face expressionless as I made my way to the stage, the nighmare playing in my head and Oz's games. I didn't even notice the two tears than leaked from the corner of one of my eyes through my mask. Faline was shaking with anger on my left.

They had called my name, "Bran Lockwood."

* * *

Have Fun! Okay, so, um... The song isn't mine it's an old fok song, and if you watch Supernatural you might recognize it. I got a new computer for my birthday, Regulus Black and Thatcher the Talking cat should be out soon, along with an update for The Plan, and The Return shpuld be out in a month. I'm officially half way to thirty now, (I have a fear of becoming middle-aged.) A Bird A Single Bird went to hell with my old computer so it is gonna be gone soon, along with a few others that have already been deleted.

Extras that were taken out:

1) clipping it around my neck I quickly tucked it under my shirt, the gold hauntingly cold on my skin. It was my most vivid memory of the happenings in the arena, Oz had fought, bit scratched, punched, held on by tooth and nail to keep it. He had killed and died for the locket, for us. **Now I wore it around my neck, it wasn't right but it wasn't wrong**

Thank You

~somedayisours~


End file.
